Aemon POV

Being a babe was dreadfully boring. He did not know how long it had been since he was reborn but reckoned that it had been at least a whole moon. It was hard to keep track of time when his days were spent sleeping, shitting himself or suckling at his mother's teats. He could still remember the first time she had decided to breastfeed him, and he had flushed with embarrassment so much that his mother thought he had fallen sick with how red his cheeks must have been. It had taken him some time to get used to being in such a way, it also made him wonder why his mother insisted on feeding him herself when that was the purpose of highborn ladies having wetnurses.

Speaking of his mother, every waking moment was spent with her and he cherished every passing second. The pure love shining in her eyes was something he had grown used to very quickly, it was all he had ever wanted when he was paraded as the bastard of Winterfell. No matter how much he craved Lady Stark's love and acceptance he never received either in return, all she had reserved for him was a deep-seated scorn. As much as it hurt him and broke his confidence he did not blame her, he could never hate the woman who had given birth to his siblings.

Lyanna Stark was everything he had hoped for in a mother and that was without even mentioning Daemon Targaryen. In this new time that the gods had sent him to, he was born as the son of the rogue prince. He was a child who should never have existed in the original timeline and born to a woman who never existed either, yet that did not stop him from being excited at the fact that he was the son of one of the most legendary figures in Westerosi history, mayhaps the most polarising figure the continent had ever seen.

He could distinctly remember asking maester Luwin about Daemon Targaryen in one of the lordly lessons he was allowed to attend and the man quoted maester Martin, " There was not a man so admired, so beloved and so reviled all at once. House Targaryen has produced both great men and monsters. Prince Daemon was both. He was made of light and darkness in equal parts. To some he was a hero and to others… he was the blackest of villains."

It was the parts about him being reviled and a villain that made him feel slightly apprehensive about being the man's son, but the love he had shown him so far was a direct contrast to the way Ned Stark had treated him. Of course, the biggest difference was that in this lifetime he was a trueborn son, whereas before he was Ned Stark's bastard and could not openly show him affection like his other children lest he earn the ire of his lady wife. Jon could accept that but seeing the way his new parents doted on him and learning the truth that he was never Jon Snow left him feeling bitter towards his uncle no matter what kind of tight situation the warden of the north had been forced into, choosing his bastard son or his wife.

However, learning the truth that he was never a bastard felt like a punch to the gut, as though all air had left his lungs. In the previous life, he cursed his uncle every day until the final battle, but after losing the war for the dawn and being reborn he had come to have a neutral look on the man. He may have lied to him his whole life and encouraged him to sign away his life at a penal colony but he also raised him as his own, besmirching his own honour in the process. He may not have been shown open affection like Robb but he was allowed the same lessons, an opportunity not usually afforded to bastards. He always had a roof over his head and food on his table, his chambers were always warm despite being closer to the servant's quarters than the family wing.

Having a moon of nothing to do but reflect made him think from his uncle's perspective, but the one thing he could never do was forgive him for choosing Robert Baratheon. A man he shared no blood with and who had killed Jon's real father, a man who had laughed at the murder of his Targaryen family. Aegon was just an infant and Rhaenys was barely three, yet he laughed at them all the same and justified their murders because they were Targaryens, whilst conveniently forgetting he himself had Targaryen blood, the only reason he had a claim to the throne. Elia was not even a Targaryen and she had suffered such a gruesome fate, the horrifying tale of what Gregor Clegane did was something that would never be forgotten. Robert hated his father because he believe he kidnapped and raped his mother, yet he honoured Clegane for raping Elia.

The man always talked about honour and the pack surviving together, the danger of the lone wolf dying. Where was the honour in serving a man who stepped over the corpses of innocents to ascend the throne, where was his pack mentality when he wanted Jon to take the black, far away from Winterfell with only the convicted criminals of the real to keep him company as brothers.

Thinking of his black brothers made him realise that he would need to implement changes to the order now as it was during the reign of the conciliator that the night's watch went from an esteemed brotherhood protecting the realm to a penal colony where the dregs of society were sent as punishment. If he also remembered his history correctly, it was Alysanne who had convinced Jaehaerys to give a further twenty-five leagues of land in the gifts to aid the night's watch, but with the numbers dwindling over the years, the lands of the gift were left to wither.

The maesters claim that the good queen had managed to charm lord Ellard Stark into agreeing with the proposal. There were many differing opinions on how the decision was accepted, some claimed that the Starks were glad to leave the land under the jurisdiction of the watch, whilst others claimed that the northerners cursed the Targaryens for taking away some of the most fertile land from them. Jon did not know the truth but was determined to figure it out. He was sent back to change things and ensure the realm was ready for the great war and that meant he would have to play the great game, the game of thrones.

Jon had learnt eventually how to lead men through trial and error, it had even led to his death and subsequent resurrection, which helped him in the long term. He had no idea how to play the game, his knowledge of politics was laughable at best and in this life he had no room for error given that there was no red witch to bring him back. The best he could do for now was observe and learn as much as he could until he was further grown and could do something other than shit and sleep.

The main objective he had was to stop the dance of the dragons, the greatest civil war the world had ever seen. They would need the dragons more than men if they were to defeat the army of the dead. Jon realised that in order to stop the dance, he would need to either stop the children of Alicent from being born or he could remove the biggest instigator behind the war, Otto Hightower. The man was not yet the hand of the king as Septon Barth still lived and so did his grandfather, the spring prince. However, from what little he could gather when servants would gossip around him, the current hand of the king was an old man and was having to spend more time in bed than doing his duties to the realm.

The septon would die soon leading to the naming of Ser Ryam as his successor for a year or so until he would eventually be replaced by Prince Baelon as the lord commander was not a man suited to the office of hand. A lot of events would happen in quick succession, which he could not change as he would be nought more than a babe with no power or influence. The lord commander in him wanted time to hurry up so that he could begin making moves, but the bastard boy in him wanted to spend as much time as a babe as possible so that he could bask in the love his mother and father showed him.

There were so many intricacies he would need to navigate and his knowledge of history would be of no help given the biased accounts they passed on to the next generation and the fact his arrival would probably have some far-fetching consequences on changing everything. He was already feeling a migraine coming on at just the thought of politicking, the one good thing that happened for him was that he and Rhaenyra were born in the same week. That left him no doubt that the both of them would be raised together, giving him some influence over one of the most prominent figures during the dance.

A surprise that he had not expected was Princess Gael, the youngest child of the king and queen. The shy princess would visit him more than any other person apart from his parents, not a day went by where she did not hold him and sing him some valyrian lullaby. She had a very soothing voice, which would help him relax and forget about the memories of his previous life. There was not a lot he knew about her, she was not remembered in any significant manner other than being the youngest child.

"Do you think Aemon is still asleep my love," came the voice of his father.

"I doubt it Daemon, our boy is far quieter than any other babe yet barely sleeps," replied his mother as both entered the room. They hovered over his crib and smiled at his open eyes. His beloved mother reached in and picked him up as he gurgled to his utter embarrassment, while his parents cooed at what must have been a cute moment from their perspective.

"Come Aemon… your grandfather and uncle Ben are here to see you," she said to him.

Aemon felt himself being lifted from his crib and held tenderly as his father gently stroked his wispy hair. He felt himself being moved as his parents left the nursery at a brisk pace and he could not believe he was about to meet the father of Cregan Stark and his usurper of an uncle who tried to maintain his regency over the north. He wondered if he could prevent such a situation from happening and have House Stark united, it would also be beneficial should he fail to prevent the dance and the men of the north could come south of the neck much quicker.

As he was carried through the hallways and past bustling servants, he wondered why were his reclusive ancestors coming south and remembered that there was to be a tourney held in his and Rhaenyra's honour. The woman who would one day be the realm's delight and eventually be known as Maegor with teats, but right now she was simply a baby that loved to constantly cry. Jon cursed the fact that he was a grown man in the body of a baby, if he didn't know what was coming and his purpose for being here, he was sure that he would have lost his mind.

They eventually stopped in a large, open room that was filled to the brim with people wearing the most fancy clothes he had ever seen. The frivolity of the South was another thing he would have to get used to and participate in as a prince of the realm. That was when he realised he was in the throne room as his parents stood by his uncle Viserys and aunt Aemma, who held a sleeping Rhaenyra.

"Presenting Lord Benjen Stark, the lord of Winterfell, lord paramount and warden of the north," called out the herald's booming voice.

"Look Aemon, there's your grandfather," she whispered to him as the lord of Winterfell kneeled along with his retinue before the iron throne.

"Rise lord Stark," commanded his paternal great-grandfather.

"Your grace, we are honoured and thank you for your invitation to the tourney," said lord Stark with sincere humility, yet there was a strong iron undertone.

"The honour is ours, my lord, you have come south for house Targaryen twice, so we thank you."

"We are family your grace and the North remembers, house Stark will always be ready should House Targaryen call for us."

There were further introductions done as many other northern lords had joined the Stark's south to attend the tourney and see the first-ever Targaryen prince with the blood of the first men. The introductions did not take too long as the southerners saw that their northern neighbours were quite straightforward and did not partake in their flowery speech. Eventually, his mother moved forward with him still in her arms as he finally got to see his northern grandfather for the first time. The man had a long, grim face like the statues that stood vigil in the crypts of his castle. He had the same icy grey eyes as his mother, which softened quite considerably when he took him into his arms.

"This is my son, Prince Aemon Targaryen… Aemon this is your grandfather, Benjen Stark," she introduced them.

"He looks like a true Targaryen."

"That he does my lord," said his father with pride.

"Let me hold my nephew, father," came another voice, heavy with that northern brogue he had missed.

"Hello Aemon, I am your uncle, Ben," he said whilst rocking him lightly back and forth.

The man who would one day attempt to usurp his nephew looked like the typical Stark but lacked the usual grim visage. He was easy to smile and seemed to have genuine affection for him. Jon was having a hard time reconciling with the fact that such a man could usurp his own blood, power really could corrupt anyone. It was that or the fact that Jon did not know the man for true and was making assumptions based on their first meeting, whilst he was still an infant.

"Come father, let me show you to your chambers."

From that moment it was a blur as the entirety of the country descended upon the capital to join in the festivities. The heavy gossiping from everyone let him know that this was supposedly the largest tourney held in the last few decades. It made Jon ponder why the king was throwing such an opulent affair for him and Rhaenyra when history never remembered him as a frivolous spender. That title was left for his successor Viserys and the other kings that came later such as the unworthy and Robert Baratheon who had left Westeros in generational debt.

Although the tourney was in his and Rhaenyra's honour, it is not as if they would be present at any of the events given their boisterous nature, which would not bode well for their sensitive ears. He had managed to gather that there would be a host of events from jousting to the melee, an archery competition and even a great hunt in the Kingswood to end the festivities. Jon could not help but pray to whatever God's sent him here that the Northmen don't inadvertently offend anyone with their blunt approach to speech, it would not do well for him to be labelled a half-savage for having Northern blood. He had reluctantly accepted that he would need as many southern allies as possible to prevent the dance and save the dragons.

Thinking of the southern families led him to a family that he would definitely need as his ally, house Velaryon. He tried to remember anything of them from the future and they held no influence or wealth that could be comparable to their time being led by the sea snake himself. The fall of House Targaryen led to their own house fading into obscurity, their valyrian origins and loyalties working against them under the new regime. However, in this day and age, there was not a more prominent house barring the royal family. Their wealth eclipsed that of the Lannister's, their fleet was second to none and they were also the only other house to command dragons.

Making some kind of bond with house Velaryon would have to be high on his list of priorities, but it would be quite hard. Corly Velaryon was an influential and accomplished man who felt slighted by the crown, he believed his wife and children to have had their birthright usurped by the very line now descended from and that was not even factoring in Rhaenys Targaryen, the very woman who was slighted for not having a cock.

Jon could not be certain but he was sure that he had read somewhere that Rhaenys had refused to speak to the king ever since he passed her over for prince Baelon. Either that was false or his arrival in this life changed things even more as the house Velaryon would supposedly arrive on the morrow, the entirety of the house. A part of Jon was excited that he would eventually get to speak to such historic figures, the sea snake was one of his personal favourites to read about, and his nine journeys throughout the known world were legendary.

"I think it's time you were fed again my little prince," whispered his mother. Jon wanted to blush in embarrassment, Seven hells this was embarrassing, why couldn't the gods let him have a baby's mind so he could forget this.

Rhaenys POV

The salt-laden wind whipped through Rhaenys Targaryen's raven-black hair as she stood at the bow of the ship, gazing out at the horizon. Five years… it had been five long years since she had stepped foot in the capital, five years since the day she had lost her father to a Myrish bolt intender for the lord of Tarth. Five years since she had her birthright stolen by her own grandfather and given to her uncle as though she was not worthy of sitting on the throne. She was her father's only heir and a daughter always came before a brother until her grandfather decided otherwise.

She had sworn to never set foot in the city of her birth again unless she had been given what was her by right, yet here she was on her way back to Kings Landing. Corlys had urged to her ignore the invite to the tourney for the children of Viserys and Daemon… where was the tourney to celebrate the birth of her children? Laena and Laenor were the rightful heirs to the throne yet they were not feted in such a way.

She would have heeded her husband's desire to remain at Driftmark had it not been for the news that had spread that the cannibal had left his lair and flew over the capital the day that Daemon's son was born and the letter from her grandmother, the queen. The former made her wish to see this child for surely there was no coincidence that the cannibal had finally shown himself on such a day. The latter is what truly made her return to the capital as her grandmother had never stopped fighting for her right to be queen and it made her love the woman even more.

Jās ñuhaeragon.

She had addressed her using the nickname that she had given her when she was but a girl and had first claimed Meleys. Her grandmother had not used that name for her in years, but now that she had it invoked memories of years long gone. She may now carry the name Velaryon, but she was first and foremost a Targaryen, Kings Landing was her first home and it was time she returned.

For too long she had moped at Driftmark due to the injustice of the world, but now she was done moping. The queen wished to amend ties between her and the king and there was only one way that could be done, justice must be deserved. Rhaenys was not a fool, Jaehaerys would never amend the line of succession but she wanted to know why he passed her over. The excuse of having a capable military leader was pathetic especially after her uncle had torched the Myrish fleet, the realm was at peace. she wanted the truth, even though a part of her knew the real reason, she would still hear it from his lips.

"Mama mama!" shouted Laena.

"Laena…"

"Come mama, kepa says we are here!" she yelled in excitement.

"I'm coming my dear, tell your father I will be right there."

She looked overhead as Meleys flew directly above them, her greatest companion letting out a trill to alert the whole city that she was home. The rightful heir to the iron throne had finally returned.

Jās ñuhaeragon: my fierce dragon

Authors Note

I hope you guys enjoyed the new chapter and let me know what you think. If you wish to read ahead, go to my pa tr eon: dragonkingsh